They say an army travels on its stomach but our small band of what seems to slowly be evolving into friends travels and fights on its very soul. How I came to that conclusion is a story in itself. I don’t know why it was that Zandu decided to charge full on in as reckless a manner as he did into a fray that I honestly don’t know how we managed to survive any more than I know why it was I so foolishly decided to follow him.

Salma had decided to turn and walk away from the strange grouping of towers that looked to me like the four fingers of a hand trying desperately to push their way up out of the sand as did Astrid. This is by no means a reflection on them. I was myself ready to just call it a day when the arrows began to fly from a small slot like opening near the top of one of the smaller towers that leaned inward toward the taller one in the center. Both Zandu and myself fired arrows of our own but it was Zandu ‘s that entered the tower and killed the archer within but at the time we did not know that as we made ready to rush the tower.

Salma, Astrid, Zandu and myself hadn’t slept. We hadn’t eaten. We’d been wounded and were sick of fighting. It seemed to me that there was a conspiracy to keep us from getting any rest and I can’t help but believe who ever was behind this was doing what ever they could to keep us from having even a moment to get ourselves regrouped before we met once more in battle those undead things or whoever else was under their control.

I rushed headlong at the tower as Zandu did the same hoping to outrun the arrows of whoever was in the tower firing at us and by some miracle we made it and searched for a way in. Once inside we found a ladder and climbed, expecting a fight when we got to the top but all we found was the archer Zandu had killed. Salma and Astrid were some distance away when they realized we were not following yet they were loathe to return for us but something told them they would be needed. From here things get hazy for me. I remember more of those primitive looking men with the strange tattoos I remember sliding down a wall and rounding a corner to confront what seemed like dozens of them. I remember barely a shining great sword flashing by my head to take out one of them just in time to save my life. I remember backing off away to give myself some room to take one of my few health potions and I remember at some point seeing all of the tattooed men lying dead on the ground with a strangely clad human creature standing amongst the carnage we had wrought and I remember him ducking as quickly as he could move into the main door of the tower structure and I stand here now, my father’s coin in my hand feeling the weight of it, flipping it over and over. Should I try the door, should I not.